'Ev'n them he canna get attended, 'Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, 'Just sh— in a kail-blade and send it, 'As soon's he smells 't, 'Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 'At once he tells 't.

'And then a' doctor's saws and whittles,
' Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles,
'A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles,
'He's sure to hae;

'Their Latin names as fast he rattles
'As A B C.

'Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees;
True Sal-marinum o' the seas;
เ The Farina of beans and pease,

He has❜t in plenty;

'Aqua-fontis, what you please,

'He can content ye.

Forbye some new, uncommon weapons,
Urinus Spiritus of capons;

'Or Mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings,

• Distill'd per se;

'Sal-alkali o' Midge-tail clippings,

'And mony mae.'

'Waes me for Johnny Ged's Hole* now,' Quoth I, if that thae news be true! เ His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 'Sae white an' bonie, 'Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew; 'They'll ruin Johnie !'

6

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh,
And says, Ye needna yoke the pleugh,
Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh,
'Tak ye nae fear :
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh,
In twa-three year.

*The grave-digger.-(R. B. 1787.)

'Whare I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death,
'By loss o' blood, or want o' breath,
'This night I'm free to tak my aith,

'That Hornbook's skill

Has clad a score i' their last claith,
'By drap and pill.

'An honest Wabster to his trade,

• Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, 'Gat tippence-worth to mend her head,

• When it was sair;

'The wife slade cannie to her bed,

'But ne'er spak mair.

"A countra Laird had ta'en the batts, 'Or some curmurring in his guts,

'His only son for Hornbook sets,

6 And pays

him well,

'The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets,

Was Laird himsel.

A bonie lass, ye kend her name,

'Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame, 'She trusts hersel, to hide the shame,

• In Hornbook's care;

'Horn sent her aff to her lang hame,

To hide it there.

'That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way, 'Thus goes he on from day to day,

'Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay,

An's weel pay'd for't;

'Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey,

'Wi' his d-mn'd dirt!

'But hark! I'll tell you of a plot,
'Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't;
'I'll nail the self-conceited Sot,

'As dead's a herrin:

'Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat,

'He gets his fairin!'

But just as he began to tell,

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell
Some wee, short hour ayont the twal,

Which rais'd us baith:

I took the way that pleas'd mysel,

And sae did Death.

THE BRIGS OF AYR.

A POEM.

INSCRIBED TO J. B********* Esq., AYR.

[Mr. John Ballantyne, banker in Ayr, to whom this interesting and amusing poem is inscribed, was Dean of Guild, and afterwards Provost of the Burgh. It seems to be allowed that to his exertions the community of Ayr were chiefly indebted for the building of the New Bridge, commenced in May, 1786, and completed in November, 1788. Mr. Robert Aiken, writer, had introduced the poet to Mr. Ballantyne, and in one of the bard's letters to the former, written early in October, 1786, we find the first mention of the present poem: he says-"There is scarcely any thing hurts me so much in being disappointed of my second edition, as not having it in my power to show my gratitude to Mr. Ballantyne by publishing my poem of 'The Brigs of Ayr.'" It appears that efforts had been made to induce Wilson to bring out a more extensive edition of the poems-for every copy of the Kilmarnock issue had been bought up; but cautious "Johnie," who could poorly appreciate the value of the musings that he had been a means of giving to the world, declined to risk the price of paper for 1000 copies-the number proposed for the second edition. This sum (£27) the poet found it impossible to raise, and Gilbert informs us that Mr. Ballantyne at length offered to advance any necessary sum; but, at the same time, recommended him to make Edinburgh the place of publication, which, as all the world knows, he did shortly thereafter.

Robert Fergusson's poetical Dialogue between The Plainstanes and Causeway, and his other poem called The Twa Ghaists, have evidenty suggested the plan of this production of Burns.]

THE simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough,
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough;
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush,

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush,
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill,

Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill; Shall he, nurst in the Peasant's lowly shed,

To hardy Independence bravely bred,

By early Poverty to hardship steel'd,

And train❜d to arms in stern Misfortune's field,
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes,

The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes?

Or labour hard the panegyric close,

With all the venal soul of dedicating Prose?
No! though his artless strains he rudely sings,
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings,
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard,
Fame, honest fame, his great his dear reward.
Still, if some Patron's gen'rous care he trace,
Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with grace;
When B********* befriends his humble name,
And hands the rustic Stranger up to fame,
With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells,
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels.

"Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap,
And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap;
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath;
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer-toils,
Unnumber'd buds an' flow'rs' delicious spoils,
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive, waxen piles,
Are doom'd by Man, that tyrant o'er the weak,
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brimstone reek:
The thund'ring guns are heard on ev'ry side,
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide;
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie,
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie:
(What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds,
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!)
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs;
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings,
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee,
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree:
The hoary morns precede the sunny days,

Mild, calm, serene, wide-spreads the noontide blaze,
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays.

"Twas in that season; when a simple Bard,
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward,
Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr,
By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care,

He left his bed and took his wayward rout,
And down by Simpson's* wheel'd the left about:
(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate,
To witness what I after shall narrate;
Or whether, rapt in meditation high,

He wander'd out he knew not where nor why.)
The drowsy Dungeon-clock † had number'd two,
And Wallace Tow'r † had sworn the fact was true:
The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar,
Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore:
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e;

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree:
The chilly Frost, beneath the silver beam,
Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream.

When, lo! on either hand the list'ning Bard,
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard;
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air,
Swift as the Gos† drives on the wheeling hare;
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape uprears,
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers:
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside.
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke,
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk;

Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them,
And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.)
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race,
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face :
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang,
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang.
New Brig was buskit in a braw, new coat,
That he, at Lon'on, frae ane Adams got;
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead,
Wi' virls an' whirlygigums at the head.

The Goth was stalking round with anxious search,
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch;

* A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end.-(R. B. 1787.)

+ The two steeples.-(R. B. 1787.)

The gos-hawk, or falcon.-(R. B. 1787.)